


if & when

by drcloyd



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M, Nightmares, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 23:03:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9209336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drcloyd/pseuds/drcloyd
Summary: Set after 7x08, assumes the group left for The Kingdom the next day, giving Daryl a night to deal with everything that happened.





	

Daryl wakes with a start, heart in his throat, his back wet with sweat. The walls of the trailer crowd in around him, and he knows he’s lyin’ on a bed, on an actual mattress, but all he can feel is cold concrete. He wills himself to snap out of it, tells himself he’s stupid, that he’s fine, that he ain’t in the Sanctuary. He can tell himself that til the cows come home but his mind ain’t gettin’ the memo. The slightest sound has him tensing, eyes searching the dark, expecting a door to open, a dog food sandwich to come flying at him. 

He breathes and breathes, sitting up and mashing his hand into the mattress. It’s soft, it gives, it ain’t concrete. He does it again and again until his mind makes the connection, until the band around his chest starts to loosen. 

Daryl feels like he hasn’t slept in weeks, and he’s not sure that it’s entirely inaccurate. Even now he can almost hear the pounding of music, so loud it hurt his ears, and a part of him can’t even settle without it, listening too hard to the silence. He stands up before he knows what he’s doing, leaving the comfort of the bed to slip out the trailer door. 

He breathes in, listening to the hush of night, the static of insects the only thing breaking the quiet. He fishes a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his jeans. It’s half empty already, it’d been full when someone (had it been Rick? Or Tara? Michonne? He can’t remember, isn’t sure if he should be worried because of it) had given it to him. 

He lights up, hands shaking in a way he ignores, and he brings it to his lips and inhales. It burns through him, nicotine flooding his veins, and for half a second he almost feels like he can forget everything.

And then the door opens, the sound making him tense. He doesn’t look back, but he can hazard a guess as to who it is. He isn’t wrong. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jesus asks, settling himself onto the step just above him, like he’d been invited, quietly unassuming, head tilted as he looks at him. 

“Nah,” Daryl grunts, reflexively. He ain’t never talked through nothin’ before, and he sure as hell ain’t gonna start now. Especially with him. He takes a drag from his cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs. He can feel Jesus’ eyes on him, can feel the itch between his shoulder blades, the urge to lash out and ask him what the fuck he’s looking at bubbling beneath the surface.

He refuses to look over, staring out at nothing. The Hilltop is asleep, even the guards up in the post are silent, and if it weren’t for Jesus right next to him, he’d feel like the only person left in the world. He can feel his presence like it’s a physical thing and it’s been like that ever since the prick jumped behind him on that bike and plastered himself against his back. He’d felt him the entire time he’d been with his family, a solid thing as he’d pressed his face against Rick’s shoulder, as he’d leaned into Michonne’s hands, as he’d hugged Tara. 

Felt his presence right beside him as they made their way to Barrington House. 

His fingers twitch around his cigarette. 

When he finally does look at the other man, annoyed by the silence, by the steady watchfulness, he finds him looking at him like he’s some sort of puzzle. Something to figure out, and there’s concern there too – that’s what has him dropping his gaze again. Jesus had seen – he’d seen what Daryl had done to that man. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done worse, like they both hadn’t been in that goddamn warehouse, killing people in their sleep. 

But this? He hadn’t been in control. It’d just happened, all those hours locked in that goddamn room, eating dog food and smelling his own shit – that was worse than getting the shit kicked out of him, almost. He’d have gone through that entire base smashing heads if he’d had the chance, if Jesus hadn’t appeared. 

Jesus is looking at him like he might do it again. Like he’s broken. Like there’s something _wrong_ with him and shit, Daryl can’t even deny that. 

“Ain’t you gonna sleep?” Daryl says, churlish. 

“I don’t sleep much, apparently neither do you,” Jesus replies simply and he’s still looking at him. 

“I don’t need no babysitter,” Daryl growls, and he hears a low chuckle that makes him ache to crack his knuckles against something. 

“Never said you did.” And he’s still calm, cool – damn unflappable. 

Daryl looks up to find him staring at him still, gaze soft. Like he’s waiting for Daryl to fall to pieces, like he had on Rick’s shoulder, like he’s waiting for him to spill his guts, tell him everything.

He’ll be waiting for a long goddamn time. 

“I saw,” Jesus says, and Daryl can’t help the flinch, taking a drag from his cigarette to hide the movement. 

Jesus waits. 

Daryl takes another drag, flicking ash onto the porch. 

“The man you killed at The Sanctuary. I saw your face after. You were -”

“Man if you don’t -” Daryl explodes, immediately cut off as Jesus raises his hands in a calming gesture, looking every goddamn bit like his namesake. 

“I’m just saying, Daryl, if you need to talk. I’m here. I saw. I get it.” 

Daryl’s head drops, breath billowing out a plume of smoke through his nose. “Talkin’ ain’t gonna do shit,” Daryl ground out. It was bad enough not talking about it. It felt like the Sanctuary was hanging over his shoulder, that no matter how far he got, he’d end up right back there, in that goddamn cell, sittin’ in the dark. 

Jesus shrugs, long hair spilling over his shoulders. “Maybe not,” he agrees. “But the offer stands.” 

Daryl grunts, mouth twisting as he stares down at his feet. 

After a few long minutes, Jesus seems to get that there ain’t gonna be nothing from Daryl tonight. He stands, looking down at him, and Daryl stares resolutely at the steps beneath his feet, barely able to pick anything out in the dimness. 

“Try and get some rest,” Jesus says, at length. His hand rests on Daryl’s shoulder for a brief moment, sending a shiver down his spine, the points of contact white hot. He doesn’t even have time to shrug him off before it’s gone. “Tomorrow you meet the King,” he says, mouth twisting like he’s got some joke Daryl ain’t in on. 

Daryl grunts. Stubs out his cigarette. The door closes behind him and he lights up another one, staring down at the glow of the ember for a few long moments before he brings it to his lips.

He ain’t ever gonna talk about it, but he can’t help but wonder what Jesus would say. The thought haunts him long after the sun comes up. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in ten years and my first fic in this fandom. It was just to dip my toes in, to see if I could write these two. Hopefully I did! Not beta'ed, any mistakes are mine.


End file.
